


all binge, no purge

by spektri



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: M/M, friends forcing friends to talk about feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 09:13:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5534312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spektri/pseuds/spektri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-Horizon; Shepard is in a bad mood. Garrus wants to help.</p>
<p>  <i>“We’re in the middle of a mission here, Vakarian.” Shepard says it as pointedly as he can, hoping that Garrus will finally take the hint. He’s fairly certain there’s nothing wrong with his comprehension; cultural differences aside, Garrus isn’t a complete block when it comes to understanding Shepard and his emotions;  but sometimes, his willingness to follow the clues is rather selective. </i></p>
<p>  <i>“I hear you, Shepard. Duty first.”</i></p>
<p>  <i>Shepard is well enough acquainted with Garrus to know that what he’s saying is, “I’m going to ambush you the moment we are back on the Normandy, and you can’t escape if your life depended on it.”</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	all binge, no purge

“You’re in a sour mood,” says Garrus.

They’re ducking behind some crates, dealing with a bunch of Eclipse mercs who’ve taken killing Shepard and his crew as their job because—well, there’s a reason for it, probably. What it is, Shepard has already forgotten. It’s most days, by now, when things such as these happen, and it’s kind of starting to lose the novelty of it. Reasons blend together, and so do the merc groups; the only difference seems to be what species the majority of their assailants are, and even that only means adjusting their own talents to best overcome theirs.

Who would’ve thought that fighting against Collectors would be so monotony. There were many fears Shepard had concerning the reluctant alliance with Cerberus; days becoming nearly _boring_ wasn’t one of them. But there you are, and there you go.

“Just pissed off about every damn type of criminal trying to get our asses,” Shepard says.

Garrus headshots a merc, then brings down another one’s barrier. Shepard throws a singularity, so that they all get tangled hopelessly into its pull.

“That’s been every day for you since we met,” Garrus says, as if he’s all of a sudden become a highly perceptive individual. Shepard makes a note for himself to limit his field time. Inquiries of this sort are not appreciated right now.

Actually, he thinks, he should also extend that to Tali. She’s not here, now, but in the future—after all, the both of them were with him on SR-1. Too much familiarity; too much insight. Too much snooping into his business.

“Well, it’s starting to get old.”

He detonates the singularity and several limp bodies fly past them.

“I think there’s something else to it,” Garrus says. His drawl has a pretty permanent undertone of slyness to it, it’s just how his voice is, but it’s especially distinctive, so he must think he’s right on the money on this.

“Feel free to keep the thoughts to yourself.”

A forceful shockwave runs just past them, a little too close to comfort, and Jack is giving them an angry look from where she’s hiding just a few boxes away.

“Maybe concentrate on sorting out these fuckers instead of gossiping like schoolgirls?”

“Good idea,” Shepard says, turning his eyes on front. And then, realizing who’s actually the commander here, he says, “Actually, since I’m in charge— _both_ of you shut up, and eyes on the battlefield.”

His team isn’t exactly happy with this directive as they shouldn’t, but they follow the order as they should; it doesn’t take much more than a few precise shots from Garrus and a biotic explosion that Jack sets up and Shepard detonates to clear the area of their current enemies. Surely there’s another wave just behind the door—there is, most of the time—but they’re good for now, have a second to breathe.

“Anyone got grazed? Need medi-gel?” Shepard asks, because even though he’s lost his patience for a lot, he hasn’t forgotten how to take care of his squad.

Jack gives him a “Nah” and Garrus a “No”. It was a standard fight, really, not more than a scuffle, and these guys can more than handle themselves, so Shepard isn’t really surprised.

“Let’s take two,” he says.

Jack is checking her weapons, and Garrus should be doing that too; instead, his glinting black eyes are staring at Shepard as if he’s trying to bore into his soul—and that’s probably exactly what’s going on. Thankfully, as far as Shepard and everyone else in the galaxy is aware anyway, that’s not a skill any known turians yet possess, so Shepard just decides to let him keep at it.

Ignoring Garrus doesn’t work, though, as he opens his mouth yet again. “I think you should air it out,” says he. “Seems to be therapeutic for the rest of us; give it a try.”

“We’re in the middle of a mission here, Vakarian.” Shepard says it as pointedly as he can, hoping that Garrus will finally take the hint. He’s fairly certain there’s nothing wrong with his comprehension; cultural differences aside, Garrus isn’t a complete block when it comes to understanding Shepard and his emotions;  but sometimes, his willingness to follow the clues is rather selective.

“I hear you, Shepard. Duty first.”

Shepard is well enough acquainted with Garrus to know that what he’s saying is, “I’m going to ambush you the moment we are back on the Normandy, and you can’t escape if your life depended on it.”

Never befriend a goddamned space dinosaur.

*

The moment Shepard steps out of the med-bay—where he was filling his medi-gel stock and ensuring Chakwas he wasn’t neglecting a check-up out of pride, but because of the unnecessity of it—he gets what he knew was coming for him.

“I have a feeling your mood, or the lack _of_ , is due to a certain Alliance soldier,” Garrus says.

“Straight to the point, huh?” Shepard mutters. It’s his way of admitting Garrus is right without having to actually _say_ it.

He doesn’t stop, though. He quickens his pace into a brisk power walk, so Garrus gets to jog at his heels.

“Well, there are other things that need my attention. Calibrations, faulty rifles, complaints about the dextro food on this spaceship... But the mission suffers if the commander does, and the consensus is that that is the more pressing issue.”

“Your concern is so touching,” Shepard says.

“Scathing sarcasm, Shepard. You wound me.”

“Well, what’s one more scar on a turian? Krogan women will be falling at your feet at this speed.”

“Now there’s a frightening thought.”

Shepard stops at the elevator, and presses the button to summon it.

“Where are we going?” Garrus asks.

Shepard gives him a glare.

Garrus may have been onto something when he accused him of being in a ‘sour mood’ earlier. And he knows it’s probably not great leadership, which is exactly why he’s trying to keep his interactions with the crew at minimum at least until he’s gotten a grip of himself.

Not that he can’t do his job when he’s feeling crabby. He’d make a terrible commander if that were something that affected his job.

But running around the ship and checking up on everyone is not actually demanded of him; it’s just a habit he picked up on the SR-1. So if he wants to cut back on some of that in order to sulk a bit, well, that’s entirely his right.

“I’m going to my cabin. You’re not invited,” Shepard says.

“Well, I wasn’t going to offer myself for a rebound, but I’m glad to see where we stand,” Garrus says.

“Have you ever considered pursuing a career in comedy?” Shepard asks.

“I can’t say that I have. Should I?”

“You’re certainly not succeeding in the field of psychology.”

“And the blows keep coming!”

The elevator doors open. Shepard steps in; Garrus hesitates for a moment, like he’s not exactly sure on how to go about this, but after a millisecond mull-over he follows in. Now, he’s got his serious face on: mandibles still and no twinkle in his eyes.

“Joking aside, Shepard, I’m worried about you.”

It’s touching, it really is. Shepard almost feels bad about being so short with him—but only almost, because he really isn’t up to talking about what happened on Horizon.

About Kaidan.

“I’ll be fine, Garrus,” he says, and when Garrus gives a face that questions the sincerity of his statement, he sighs and tries to be as soft and friendly as he can. “It’s never easy having people you used to trust walk away from you. But it is what it is; dealt with and over.”

Garrus hums.

“Something you want to add?” Shepard asks, and he is surprised how tired the words sound.

“Ah, nothing.”

The elevator stops, and the doors open again. Shepard doesn’t move, and neither does Garrus.

 “Let me have it. We started it, might as well finish.”

Garrus hesitates, but in a way that tells more about him considering his words than considering backing down. He’s intent on having this therapy session, it’s clear, and Shepard deciding to get it over with as soon as possible instead of stretching it until it broke in a situation most likely undesirable gives him a narrow window to get it right.

But, for some reason—be it their beautifully blossomed friendship or worry that Shepard  won’t be a stand-up commander without getting all of this off his chest—Garrus _cares_ ; and Shepard, despite himself, despite the fact that there’s literally anything he’d rather do than open up, cares about _that_.

Friends; brothers-in-arms.

It often doesn’t end well, but while it lasts, it’s important. And it’s important to milk it for all it’s worth. Reluctant heart-to-hearts included.

Guess you can’t form friendships on the basis of asking questions but never answering. Not that friendship was what he opted for, but it was what he got regardless, and, well, he can’t say he regrets it. Not most of the time, anyway.

“The more there is between friends,” Garrus starts, not so much carefully as slowly to drive in the point, “the worse it feels when it goes away.” Pause: and Shepard gets the urge to say something bitter and unhelpful, like, “no shit,” but forces it down because there’s no point, and it’d be underestimating Garrus to think he was done yet. “You and Kaidan? That must hurt like hell. But...”

Another pause, again one out of consideration: to weight he words, to choose the best ones. Maybe even to let Shepard brace himself, which he finds himself doing inadvertently, his mind on autopilot. “The way I see it—and I’ve got a pretty good eyesight—there’s two ways you can go. Either you get bitter and angry, take the pain and transform into energy. Let it fuel you, take it on your enemies. Or you take the optimistic approach, hope that one day things get right, get better, or that it already is better—that it _is_ right, _now_. Believe in a better future, or a better now, and fight to make it real.”

Shepard swallows.

“Sounds like promoting false hope to me,” he says. Probably the most straight-forwardly true thing he’s said in a long time. Maybe even since he died. Not that he’s a liar, just that dodging is second nature to him—dodging bullets, dodging questions, dodging the truth.

“Yeah, maybe,” Garrus admits. “And there are people who say false hope is dangerous. Then, so is anger—and so is chasing down a rogue Spectre hell-bent on launching a galaxy-wide Reaper invasion; but that hasn’t stopped you before.”

Well, he’s got a point there.

Lot of the things in his life has amounted to, what at the time seemed like, _false hope_ , and it ending up being not so false after all. But, as always in life, there’s the question of luck running out and the _when_ of it; seems like, what with the resurrections and suicide missions, he might already be pushing it to the limit.

The anger comes more naturally. Red-hot, pure, and comforting like a security blanket. It hasn’t always led him to the best of places, to the best of choices, but at least he knows what to do with himself when engulfed in it.

Shepard sighs.

The easy way is not always the right way; sometimes you got to fight your nature to get the best results. But variables differ and outcomes do too, and nothing can be solved with a simplified answer-to-all rule.

“I couldn’t imagine telling you what to do,” Garrus says, then, like he’s reading Shepard’s mind (or maybe just his face). “We both know my way of dealing with things, well. It doesn’t really apply here.”

No, sniping Kaidan _really_ isn’t the answer.

“Yeah.”

Then, a voice—artificial, feminine, often attributed to an AI that goes by the name of EDI—cuts in.

“Commander Shepard. There is a crewman on the engineering level trying to use the elevator.”

Shepard realises that after he denied Garrus access to his cabin, they never found another place to move to. They have been holding the elevator for several minutes.

Garrus’s mandibles flutter in a show of either amusement or embarrassment; Shepard has never really learned the difference between the two.

“Thanks, EDI,” he says, and steps out of the elevator. Then, turns around back to his friend. “And... you, too, Garrus.”

Garrus nods. “Good talk, Shepard. Think about what I said.”

Shepard nods, too. “I will.”

And the elevator doors close. Shepard enters his cabin, sits behind the desk, looks at the picture frame on his table. It doesn’t have anything in it, but if it did, it would be Kaidan, and he would look at it forlorn. Alas, he never got the chance to get one. Never got a chance to do a lot of things.

False hope or misdirected anger.

God, the choices you have to make.


End file.
